Reflection
by Lisbry
Summary: At the start of every new school year, Lily Evans sits by her window and quietly contemplates the upcoming year. Now entering her seventh and final year, how will a recent tragedy and the war affect her reflection?


_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Shocking, eh? I would *really* love it if someone took the time to review, though. :)_

I leant my forehead against the cool pane of the window, my breath puffing out small clouds of dew, looking out over the dark-shrouded grounds, and waited for my roommates to settle. There was always a certain peacefulness to be found here, in my corner, even with the jabbering of my roommates in the background. I caught snippets of their conversation as my mind wandered. Apparently, Gareth MacMillan and Fiona Tristern got back together again over the summer, and dear Merlin, have you seen Valerie Nott's new hair-cut?

"Like worms clawing their way out of the dark, dark place that is her mind," said Cristine, her humourous mouth turning up and completely contradicting the dark look in her eyes. No one asked for my opinion, as they were used to my start-of-term ritual by then, after having seen me do it for seven years.

Soon, however, everyone crept under their covers, exchanged 'good night's, and the silence that enveloped the dormitory was complete, save my own breathing, and Mallory's ever so soft snores. I sighed in contentment, letting my mind just wrap itself in the sight, smell, sound, taste and feeling that is Hogwarts.

The grounds were barely distinguishable, but I could easily see the Quidditch hoops in the distance, rising high above the ground like bubble-blowers. My mouth quirked slightly at the thought of the immense size of the bubbles blowers like that could produce, and imagined myself encased in one, floating off into the distance.

My nose captured the dusty fragrance of a neglected room, already mixing in with the flowers, smoke, sweat, chocolate, spice and soap that is the Gryffindor seventh year girls. That is another reason to why I always took this time to sit and think quietly — come next week the dust would be mostly gone, the start-of-term scent banished until next September. I won't be here then, so I let myself draw out the time as much as possible before I had to go to bed.

I savoured the moment, blocking out the darkness that had wrapped itself around my life for a bit, instead just losing myself in memories of the previous start-of-terms. First year — I was young, nervous, wide-eyed and innocent, seating myself by the window next to my new four-poster in reflection of what I had just experienced, and would continue to experience for years to come. Second year — grinning with excitement to be back, and scoffing slightly when remembering how silly I had been the year before in the same spot. Third year — fingering my permission slip, and wondering what Hogsmeade would be like, and if Arithmancy would really be as hard as it was rumoured to be. Fourth year — taking a moment from giggling with my dorm-mates to sigh dreamily at the thought of a sixth year I had a desperate crush on at the time. Fifth year — already fretting over OWLs. Sixth year — the year I would grin, have fun, and try to forget the fact that there was a war building around me.

I let my fingers trace a small bolt of lightning into the layer of dust on the window sill. The bolt looked lonely, however, and soon darkening clouds were thundering in over a full moon, a lonely werewolf was howling in pain, and the rain was pouring down on a roaring battle. Half the wizards were clad in dark robes, with white masks obscuring their faces, glinting menacingly in the sparks of purple blood spill, white torture and green death. Death Eaters.

I shivered at the thought, my mind drawing up pictures I'd rather forget — countless Muggle homes torn apart for no more than Lord Voldemort's own sick amusement. Resisting forces captured, tortured and killed. Diagon Alley turned into the dark, fearful shadow of the place I remembered entering at the age of eleven. The coldness that completely contradicted what I associated with summer, filling us all with the kind of pessimistic thoughts that would eventually win Voldemort the war. Countless murders splattered mercilessly across the pages of the Daily Prophet. It was a shock to board the train earlier that day, finding my friends, and seeing all that I had missed during the weeks of Muggle "normality" I upheld during the summer holidays, cruelly displayed over many weeks' worth of news.

I shifted my perspective slightly, and the warm glow issuing from a single candle reflected my face in the window. Although on the exterior I looked the same as ever — my bright red hair curling around my pale, freckled face, my green eyes looking dazed and tired — a new heaviness rested on my shoulders and haunted my eyes that not even returning to school could expel.

I recognized the heaviness as Death. It surrounded me everywhere — even at school the numbers of students were slowly dwindling. Before it had always been this distant myth, an untouchable concept that wouldn't hit me for years to come. However, Death never did play fair.

On a cold night in the middle of July, my sister, Petunia, and I heard the phone ringing; each ring shrill and piercing in the quiet house. Our parents died that night, in a freak gas-leak at the restaurant they had visited. It was their 20th anniversary. Although unbeknownst to the Muggle authorities, I knew better. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement contacted me later that night and told me of the Death Eaters' involvement.

I changed that night. No longer would I sit idly around, practicing charms and writing essays, merely because it was required if I wanted to achieve the right amount of NEWTs to secure a career. No, now I would practice charms and write essays, because it would secure my hope in a future. A future without the pain, the darkness and the death. And, although I would not ever give up hope, I would prepare. Raise awareness, practice defences, and try to keep up the school spirit as Head Girl. I decided (well, hoped really) that when the time came at the end of the year to go out into the real world, I would be ready to take my stride in the war, and emerge on the other side victorious, if not in life, then in spirit.

With that final thought, I shakily got to my feet, quietly changed into my worn, beloved Beatles t-shirt, blew out the candle, and crept into bed, ready to tackle the challenges that would come with my last year at Hogwarts.


End file.
